Cleansing
by MrTyeDye
Summary: Even a clown has to cry every once in a while.


Luan was in a bit of a funk.

And she didn't quite understand why.

Maybe she was still hurting from bombing at little Richie's sixth birthday party last week. Maybe it was the news from her orthodontist that her braces would have to stay on for another year. Winter break had just ended for her, so it could have been just a typical case of the back-to-school blues.

Whatever the case was, for the past few days, Luan just didn't feel like her perky, quirky self. She had to drag herself out of bed every morning, and her morning coffee did little to offset her feelings of lethargy. Throughout the day, she seldom felt the urge to crack jokes, and even when she spied opportunities for puns, she just let them pass. Since Monday of that week, she'd just been drifting through each day with the same nondescript frown on her face - not pronounced enough to inspire concern from her friends and family, but certainly unbefitting for the jokester of the Loud house.

Even the excitement of Friday did hardly anything to lift her spirits, though that was partially because she hadn't bothered to make any plans. Invitations from Giggles and Benny were met with a flat, terse "maybe", and calls to Funny Business were left unanswered. She knew that this kind of mood was unusual for her, but she couldn't muster up the motivation to ask anyone for help. She just didn't _feel_ like it.

Her family finally started to take notice at dinner that Friday night. Lynn Sr. was weaving a fantastic tale about the time he accidentally fell into the lion pit at the zoo. A few people at the table were eyeing Luan expectantly, waiting for the moment she would chime in with, "You're not _lion_ to us, are you?"

But she never did. All she did was stare down at her fried fish, needling it with her fork and cutting it into smaller and smaller pieces. She'd only eaten about a third of it at that point, while everyone else at the table had cleaned their plates.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" asked Rita, as her forehead wrinkled with worry. "You've barely touched your food."

"I'm fine," Luan said with a sigh, keeping her eyes pointed at her plate. "I'm just not that hungry."

She pushed her chair out from the table, stood up and shoved her plate away from her. "Can I be excused? I've got homework to do."

Lynn Sr. raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure you don't want the rest of your meal?"

"You can just wrap it in foil. I'll have it for lunch tomorrow."

Without even bothering to wait for her parents to give her permission, she walked away from the table and started her trek across the living room. Technically, nothing she told them was a lie. Okay, the claim that she was "fine" was kind of dubious, but she _wasn't_ feeling hungry, and she _did_ have a homework assignment- specifically, her first assignment from her Creative Writing elective. Her teacher had given her a simple assignment: write a story. Any length, any format, any genre. Just a simple, open-ended assignment, designed to let the students introduce themselves and showcase the writing experience they have.

As she walked into her room, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Coconuts in a sitting position on her dresser. Gosh, Mr. Coconuts... she hadn't touched him all week. That was the exact same spot she left him in after she came home from her gig at Richie's party. It made her feel a bit guilty, like she was taking an old friend for granted.

But she'd play with him later. Now, it was time to work. She plopped herself down on her bed, opened up her laptop, and started a new word document.

 _Luan Loud_

 _January 31_

 _Creative Writing_

 _Short Story_

"I'll think of a better title later," she muttered to herself. For now, she just committed herself to the task of getting something - _anything_ \- down on paper.

 _There once was a girl named Cathy. She fancied herself a comedian and loved to tell jokes all the time. But none of her friends thought she was very funny. In fact, she hardly had any friends at all._

Luan's frown grew bigger and more pronounced. Her commitment to getting the assignment over with as soon as possible meant that she couldn't spare any time to filter herself; she just typed out the first thing that came to her head. Her words, as a result, were tinged with the glumness she'd been feeling all week.

 _Cathy really wanted to impress them, so she spent all week coming up with the perfect comedy routine. She ran jokes by her mom and dad, studied the most beloved comedic voices of all time, and rehearsed everything she wrote in front of the mirror. She put everything she had into it, and she told herself that there was no way it would bomb._

 _At the end of the week, she invited all of her classmates to come listen to her in the schoolyard after school. That afternoon, she stood in front of the whole class and recited her routine perfectly, without botching a single joke._

She grimaced.

 _Nobody thought it was funny. Not even a little bit._

Her breathing accelerated, as a lump started to swell in her gullet. She wanted to stop herself, but her fingers continued to type, as if they had minds of their own.

 _The other kids booed her and yelled at her and threw pencils and pens at her. They told her that she was a piece of garbage who would never amount to anything, and they told her to go crawl into a hole and let herself die._

Tears started to well up in her eyes, and her forehead throbbed from the strain of holding them back. Any second now, the dam would break.

 _One boy punched her hard in the stomach, and she fell down onto the concrete ground, writhing in pain. Everyone else left the schoolyard and went home._

 _She couldn't get up. She was too hurt. She cried for help, but nobody was around to hear her. She screamed louder and louder, until her throat was hoarse and tears were pouring out of her eyes, but nobody answered her call._

At that point, she couldn't hold back anymore. Her tear ducts opened up, and twin streams started flowing down her cheeks, as her breathing cycle degenerated into a series of erratic, hiccupy breaths. But she still didn't stop. Even though she could barely see the screen through her now-blurred vision, she kept going.

 _Finally, she managed to pick herself up off the ground, and began to walk home all alone. Nobody was looking for her. Nobody noticed that she was gone. Nobody cared._

 _On the way home, she started walking across a bridge. She stopped midway and looked over the edge. It was a hundred feet off the ground. She wondered if anyone would miss her if she jumped off and-_

That did it. That marked the end of her run. She couldn't muster up the strength to complete that thought before her quiet weeping erupted into unrestrained sobbing. She slammed her laptop shut, crawled to the other side of the bed and collapsed face-first into her pillow.

And she cried. _Hard_. She put every ounce of energy into her sobs, howling into her pillow as if she were trying to stir it from slumber. The events of the harrowing story she penned played back in her mind over and over and over again. Poor Cathy. She tried her best and it still wasn't enough. Why wouldn't anyone give her a chance?

 _Because of you_ , she thought. _You're the one who wrote her that way. Her life is terrible and it's all your fault. You should be ashamed of yourself._

As her body wracked with sobs, she started belting out hysterical apologies to the fictional character. In any other state of mind, she would have felt silly for feeling so guilty for the plight of someone who didn't even exist. In the moment, though, Cathy's sorrow just felt real.

And as she cried, she started to feel compelled to continue - to keep the tears flowing as long as possible. When her story started to fade out of her mind, her imagination responded by manufacturing _other_ reasons to cry.

 _Luna still isn't back_ , her brain told her. _She's probably going to move out of the bedroom. She's trying to stay away from you because you're annoying and stupid._

This, of course, was not even remotely true (Luna was forced to stay after dinner so her parents could have a talk with her about her grades), but in the midst of her crying, it seemed all too plausible.

"S-she doesn't l-love me anymo-ore!" Luan bawled into her pillow, banging her fists on the mattress. Visions of Luna glaring down at her with scorn and contempt played in her head on loop.

Then, once that well ran dry and the visions faded away, her thoughts and eyes drifted towards Mr. Coconuts, who was looking down at her from his perch upon the dresser. In that moment, Luan swore she saw a tinge of hurt in his static, painted-on expression.

" _Why don't you play with me anymore?_ " she heard him say. " _Don't you love me? I thought I was your friend."_

"I'M SORRY!" she howled at the top of her lungs - though her howls were muffled by her pillow, preventing anyone else in the hall from hearing her. "I didn't mean to! I'm still your friend! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

For twenty straight minutes, her crying spell continued in much the same way, as her mind bombarded her with reminders of all her failures, regrets and insecurities. Before long, her pillow was sopping wet, and her eyes were aching from the effort.

Eventually, though, she started losing steam. The rush she got from crying her heart out grew fainter and fainter, and her eyes seemed to be running out of tears to shed. Her unrestrained bawling diminished into gentle sobbing, which diminished even further into quiet sniffling.

Once she reached that stage, she pushed herself up off her bed and shuffled over to the mirror. One glance into the glass revealed that she was an absolute wreck; her hair was all askew, her eyes were inflamed and swollen, streams of mucus were cascading from her nose, and her blouse was damp with tears.

And yet... she felt good. Invigorated, as though a massive weight had just been lifted off of her shoulders. In the past half hour, she had purged every ounce of negativity from her body, cleansing and refreshing herself. As she gazed at her reflection, she managed to form a small, quivering smile.

She then returned to her bed, reopened her laptop, and banged out a new ending for her story.

 _One boy punched her hard in the stomach, and she fell down onto the concrete ground, writhing in pain. Everyone else left the schoolyard and went home._

 _Everyone, that is, except for one boy, who helped her up and walked her back home. He said that he actually enjoyed some of her jokes, and that she shouldn't give up just because some people didn't like her._

 _But he also told her that it was okay for her to cry - which she did, all the way home. Being sad, he said, is a part of life; everyone has their low moments. Sometimes you just have to embrace it in order to move on._

 _THE END_

Moments after she finished the story and hit the Save command, she heard the click of the doorknob shifting, and the door creaked open to reveal Luna. "Hey, sis. Just wanted to know if you-"

Luna gasped upon catching sight of Luan's ragged, tear-stained face. "Whoa! Are you okay?!"

Luan took a deep breath, wiped away the remaining tears lingering on her face, got up off the bed and turned back to face Luna with a grin.

"Yep! Never better!"

She then gave Luna a peck on the cheek and skipped down the hall towards the kitchen, intent on finding something to snack on.

From that day forward, Luan had a ritual that she'd practice every couple of months or so; she called it a "purge", or a "cleansing". Whenever she felt like life was weighing her down, she'd give herself a half hour to cry everything out of her system. It was odd, and she seldom talked about it to anyone else, but it worked.

For even a clown has to cry every once in a while.


End file.
